


Pizza Night

by mrgoldsdearie



Series: Nygmobblepot Ficlets [5]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Dry Humping, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9535130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrgoldsdearie/pseuds/mrgoldsdearie
Summary: Edward and Oswald cooking together (っゝω・)っ～☆





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my follower celebration. Please send me more fluffy Nygmobblepot prompts if you would like a ficlet. I would love to do more today! Thank you @aznpuhsuazn for sending me this one °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° I’m so sorry this turned into light smut.

Oswald stands behind Edward, hands coiled around his hips, peeking around his shoulder and watching his husband rolling out pizza dough. No one really makes pizza themselves in the city of Gotham. With so many places to get a great pizza, who really needs to make it. But when Edward suggested baking one for dinner Oswald wanted to help.

Oswald gazes mesmerized at Edward’s hands, moving with precision like a world-famous baker. “How many times have you done this, Ed?”, he asks, tightening the hold on his love.

“I’ve never counted.” He dusts the dough with a sprinkling of flour.

“You look like a professional.” Oswald kisses his arm and lays his head back upon him.

He chuckles, resting the rolling pin on the counter. “I thought when you said you were going to help—” he turns to Oswald and boops his nose with a flour covered finger— “that you were actually going to help.”

“I am helping. I’m giving you moral support,” the Penguin joked.

Edward smiles and kisses Oswald on the brow. “I don’t need moral support for rolling out the dough.” He grabs the birdie by the waist and turns him towards the counter. “I need a sous chef.”

“But, Ed, I was doing…”

“Shh…”, Edward shushes him, lining himself behind his man. He rests his hands on Oswald’s shoulders and slowly slides them down the length of his arm stopping at his wrists. “I’ll help you, little bird,” he murmurs in the shell of his ear.

Oswald pushes back against Edward, bringing their bodies flush together. “I’m ready to learn.”

The Riddler guides Oswald’s hands to pick up the rolling pin and assists him in stretching out the dough. “You’re doing a superb job, little bird,” he breathes on the side of his cheek, gently grazing his nose upon the Penguin’s freckled skin.

Oswald’s body lightly quivers. He always feels tingles down his spine whenever his husband calls him the little bird in such an alluring tone. “I have a good teacher.” Oswald not only rolls out the dough even thinner but also slowly grinds his backside against Edward’s bulge.

Edward breathes heavily on the side of Oswald’s neck, trying to stay focused on the dough. “Now we have to move it to the tray—” he scoots the baking sheet closer so Oswald can reach— “and add the toppings.”

With his groom’s help, Oswald successfully transfers the dough and begins spreading the pizza sauce Edward had made earlier. “Like this?”, he asks, gently increasing the rhythm of his hips.  

“Ugh…”, the Riddler grunts. His temperature rise with the flow of his blood rushing through his body. “Exactly like that,” he says thickly burying his head in Oswald’s neck, blowing sweet raspberries on his warm flesh.

Oswald dips his finger into the sauce and licks the digit clean. “Mmm…”, he hums.

“Can I have a taste too?”, Edward asks, nibbling on his love’s earlobe.

Oswald nods submerging his finger in the cool sauce then slips it between his husband’s lips.

Edward’s swirls his tongue around Oswald’s finger, thrusting his hips upon his backside.

“Ah!” The little bird chirped, catching himself on the counter. “Ah!”, he moans again when Edward bucks against him harder. He can feel his husband’s stiffening cock between his cheeks.

Edward grips Oswald’s hips, rubbing himself on his lover ass, causing more friction between their clothing. “Oh, Oswald,” the Riddler groans, snaking his right hand to the front of Oswald’s pin-striped pants and fondles his groom’s package. “You like that, little bird?”

“Yes… Yes…,” Oswald whimpers, matching the rolling of his hips to Edward’s drive.

Edward dry humps and grinds on his love over the raw pizza dough, groping his tight bulge, until they both reach the blissful climax, cumming hard in their pants.

“Oh, God!”, they both shout. Their bodies twitch, riding out the waves of orgasm.

After a moment, Edward loosens his grip on Oswald’s cock and steps back, the front of his brown pants stained with his release.

Oswald picks himself up and turns to his beloved, kissing him zealously, backing him up against the refrigerator. “Oh, Ed—” he breathes between kisses— “I want more.”

Edward breaks away from Oswald greedy lips just long enough to mutter, “But what about the pizza?”

“It can fucking wait.” He latches on to the Riddler’s left hand and drags him out of the kitchen to their bedroom.


End file.
